Hellraiser: Hell at War
by Belgian Horror
Summary: A sequel to Hellraiser: Project Hell on Earth, A group of humans and Nightbreeds provoke Hell and endangers their peace treaty with Midian. Only with one goal in mind: the defeat of Leviathan. But first they have to pass the cenobites, who will not go down without a fight. This while a mysterious figure is pulling the strings...
1. Chapter 1: The Breach

The Breach

Slumbering through the dark paths of the Labyrinth, three cenobites looks at a purple light in the misty sky of the Hell. The two females were in the Order of the Gash, as Stitch and Little Sister. As for the third, the once fraudulent fortune teller was now a fiendish creature bearing the name: The Watcher. He was a tall figure, sporting a long leather dress with a hood covering a bigger part of his disfigured face. The Engineers had removed his cheeks and both his lower and upper eyelids. In the middle of his forehead, there was a hole. The hole was filled with a glass eye. On the back of his bald head, he had deep cuts, revealing parts of his skull. The Gash of the Watcher witness how five creature jumps out the portal.

"Humans?", Stitch whispers at her comrades.

"Filth!", The Watcher grabs a long curved knife from his belt and cut of the leg of one of the intruders as they land. The Divine sword the man carried, jamming it in the ground. The Watcher spills no time and he stabs the man's chin with the hook of the sword, and thereby throwing him in the abyss. The three men are accompanied by two monstrous creatures, Nightbreed.

"Why are you here!", The Watcher commands while point his weapon at the remaining intruders as his Gash followed his example.

One of the men throws a Divine dagger in the throat of Stitch: "We've come to bring you message. Leviathan's rule is about to end!"

The Nightbreed steps forwards and charges at the two remaining cenobites. The left Nightbreed was more human than the other, he was a bit bigger than regular humans with a brown skin and strange lines in his face. From the lines come short shark like teeth. His name was Cernal and the brother to the deceased Carginess. The other had more animalistic, he had black porcupine needles covering parts of his face. His name was Kilnaq. Kilnaq manage to pin Little Sister down but Cernal is less lucky. The Watcher evades the attack and damage the Nightbreed's right eye but notices they can't win this battle. As Kilnaq places his jaws around Little Sister's neck, he runs away.

"Are we being a coward, Watcher? Do you really leaving your gash behind."

From the shadows, a mysterious face appears. Pins were driven deep into the skull of the creature.

One of the men looks at the face and smiles: "Finally, we meet the 'great' Pinhead. It will be an honour to kill you!"

The man was wearing a black suit and wears a eye patch over his right eye. A golden cross rested on his chest. The cenobite looked disdainfully at the cross, before answering: "Something as insignificant as yourselves aren't even worth to be buried in the faeces of a Pet, let alone got the honour to lay your eyes on Him as he strangles you with your small intestines !"

It was a rasping unearthly voice but as she stepped from the shadows that concealed her, she clearly a female specimen. A skin-tight leather bodysuit showed her feminine body frame. She had four diagonal cuts on each of her breasts but her body looked less mutilated than by the rest of the cenobites. But the mutilation of her face was far severe then by the others, even The Watcher. In the image of Pinhead, a grid was cut into her face, and pins were driven into those intersections. The Watcher drops on his knees as he sees her. She looks at the kneeling Watcher with a uncaring look: "Why are you fleeing, Watcher!"

"Leviathan has betrayed us, he would protect us! We couldn't win this battle."

"Pitiful, a coward and traitor. Tell me, Watcher. Why shouldn't I execute you here on the spot?"

He was shocked by the accusation but before he can do something else, a man with a long beard steps forwards, wielding a huge battle axe, the Divine Axe. Morte Mamme's weapons! Spilling no more time on the pathetic creature by her feet, the Female Pinhead grabs a knife from the belt and throw it in the forehead of the soldier. Clearly shocked by the sudden end of his life, he falls down as his remaining comrades charge to battle. "Now fight, Watcher or your hide will decorate the library of Dis!"

"We can't defeat them alone. Leviathan should help us but does nothing!"

"I'll start to believe I should take an example of Atkins and end your treacherous life here and now. But I have no time for this. General, who don't you introduce yourself."

The General Cenobite steps from the shadow and raises a gun made of human flesh and bone, and fires at the Kilnaq who's the closest to Female Pinhead. Using teeth as ammunition, the strategic mastermind of Hell, shoots Kilnaq through the knee, only to be finished off with a second shot in the head. The Female Pinhead took the Watcher's sword and spares with Cernal who wields now the Divine Sword. She evades his blows and bring him down by cutting of his lower legs and pinning his hand down. With the final human realizing things are turning, opens another portal and tries to make his leave but The Watcher throws a knife at him, hitting him in the back. Fatally wounded, the human escapes the encounter with the cenobites.

The Female Cenobite grabs the Divine Sword and goes to Cernal. With the blade she forces him to look up to her before continuing: "Foul Creature, who send you here!"

"Go to hell!"

"Very well then." She raises the sword and bisects the Nightbreed's head horizontally. The top of the head disappears in the abyss below. She walks to the Watcher with the sword and forces him to his knees. She drops the sword and places her hand on his glass eye which she tears out of his skull: "Be happy this is the only thing you lost today, traitor! Next time, I'll serve your head to Leviathan!"

The General ignores The Watcher and looks stoically at the Female Pinhead: "Who do you think sent them?"

"I have no idea and I don't like it!"

In her rage, she crushes the glass eye in her hand.

"We have to inform Leviathan that Midian have declared war on us!"

"These two didn't represented Midian! They are rogue members of some splinter faction. Dyke would never declare war on Hell as long as there's a Nightbreed in Hell!"

Hell's only Nightbreed, Peloquin steps towards them, visibly annoyed by both the events as the accusation to his kind.

"Peloquin. How long have you been watching before showing up?"

"The only reason I'm here, is as part of the peace treaty between Hell and Midian. But like I said, those were rogue Nightbreed."

"How can you so sure..."

"Midian Nightbreed doesn't work with humans."

She turns around and looks over the abyss, knowing that somewhere the human was reported these events with his last breath. One thing was sure, this wasn't over.

The wounded man stands to the centre of the room, severely bleeding from a deep wound on his back. "Are you sure!"

"Yes, Mistress. She killed Arnold."

He felt down on his knees. A man behind the woman tries to help him but she raises her hand and stops him. "His life is no longer important, he has failed the mission. This news is only a small token of redemption."

As the man bleeds out on the floor, she stands up and leaves the room. So, Kristy Cotton was still alive, sort of. But no longer worth any mercy!


	2. Chapter 2: The Tale of Kristy Cotton

Her head was hurting like hell and she starts to see black spots with her left eyes. She took her handbag and start searching in it. Since her last visit to her doctor, she had been searching for it and was lucky, by lack of a better word she called it lucky, to find the owner of the box. Her fingers touched the cube and closed her hand around it. Like a samurai would pull out his sword, she pulled the box out of her bag. She raised the box at eye level while whispering: "The Lament Configuration, the Lemerchand's Box. "

Her finger touched the top of the puzzle box, in circular motion. Here she was, with the box she had once hoped never to see again and yet was confronted by for the fourth time in her life. The first was when her father claimed his uncle's house, after the latter went missing after one of his many sinister exploits. The second was only a few months later. A doctor who was obsessed by the toymaker's legacy. Her final confrontation, until now, was when her treacherous husband tried to get rid of her. In all occasions, she had been concentrating on one thought. Survival. But this time, there would be no way out. This time she had chosen to do this. She pressed on a button and the box started to change its shape. It started to twist and turn and she put calmly and carefully on the ground. A bright light filled the room and almost blinded her. It was so bright, it started to hurt. This could be better over quick. As four figures appeared from the light, she almost felt relieved. She looked around and noticed it was the old gash. Pinhead in the middle, the female cenobite and the fat one on the left and the ugly one on the right. She was almost forgot how terrifying they were. Not that she was having second thoughts, she had thought about this for a week, since the diagnosis.

Pinhead looked at her and started smile: "Kristy, at last, we see each other once again! I knew you would come back."

She looked angry at him, an expression of pure hate. "You bastard!"

"What is it this time? Which bargain will you propose this time. Another soul that escaped us? Someone you want to pay out?"

"No bargains this time. I just want some information."

"And what do you give us?"

"My soul! I pledge my soul to you! I have only one question!"

"The Female stepped forward, taking a curved knife from the leather belt. "No more bargains, It's time to play."

Pinhead raised his hand towards her, commanding her to stop. To Kristy's gratification, she noticed a disappointment on the face of Female Cenobite while Pinhead didn't even look at her. He only look at Kristy with that terrifying smile, as he continues:"Go ahead!"

"When did you do it?!"

She was almost crying but trying to prevent that, as she didn't want to provoke them.

"You'll have to be more precisely."

"The brain tumour! When did you do it?", she yells at him, fighting the tears and trying to keep control over herself while the memories returned to her.

It was one week ago, for months her head had hurt like hell. Sudden light flashes almost caused seizures. She had to visit a doctor. It was from then on, things went downhill. The doctor was shaking when told her, he would sent her to a colleague, an oncologist. The diagnose devastated her world. According to the CAT-scan, she had a huge brain tumour, which had spread over her complete brain. She started to cry when the oncologist asked her to sit down and told her that, based on the scan, she got another month or two to life. He almost start to cry himself when he told her that it was incurable, that the tumour get been there for too long. It was then she realized what had happened. First, she bought a gun, but found her unable to commit suicide, not since she knew there was another way. After 3 days, she had found the Vagrant. She asked him about the box and shortly after that, she left his house (a hovel which was barely habitable) with the box and after killing him with the gun. She did know it would be futile, that he would return but was all about sending a message. She had planned this day for a week. Placed her car near the water and left a suicide note on her desk in which she claimed she would have jump in the Thames. The housekeeper would find the note when he came for the rent.

"The seed was planned after our first meeting."

"Why?"

"Remember the first time we met? Off course, you do. You gave us your uncle in exchange for your freedom. Or when we gave our souls to save you for Dr. Channard. Or that time you bargained your soul with the soul of 5 people? You always had potential, you just needed the proper motivation and I have it to you! Now, your soul belongs to us!"

"So be it!"

Pinhead was surprised by her reaction. It had only occur a few times that he came to claim someone who was so calm. She had accepted her destiny. She had become the powerful soul whose potential he felt years ago. She was much stronger then her uncle, her father or her husband ever was. And she knew her destiny would completely differ from theirs. It was on that moment he realized she would be a great addition to the army of Hell. As he opened the portal to Hell, she passed him without even looking at the other cenobites. While she entered the Labyrinth, he would have sworn she was smiling...


	3. Chapter 3: Memories of Sinner's Son

It was a 6 months after his father disappeared, after his latest project failed miserably. 6 months after the cenobites claimed his soul. And still he couldn't believe that his father was dumb enough to mess with them. He knew the risks. Michael Lemarchand looked through the window of his car while it was raining once again, still with thinking about his dad, the cenobites and task that lay ahead. "Nice legacy you have build, Phillipe."

His father knew the risks and so did he. That was the reason why he was here.

It was to this day 18 years ago. He was 16 years old and about to make the biggest mistake of his life. A gothic teen interested in the occult and tired of life, he found a mysterious box. It was in an old antique store downtown. The owner of the store was Ben Crane. In the back of store there was a dark corner with occult artefacts. It was one of the only places he enjoyed being. It was on that particular day he discovered this strange box. It has the seize of a rubix cube but that was likely only likeness between the two. Made of dark wood, likely ebony decorated by golden symbols. As part of the Lemarchand clan he recognized the box immediately. It was one of the 9 legendary boxes of Phillipe Lemarchand, the 9th to be exactly. From the few hundred boxes, there were 9 boxes deemed the status of being legendary. The most famous box was of course the first: the Lament Configuration. But that one vanished for the radar once more. This was the last box ever created, the Demise of the Maker, also known as the Baron's Retribution. He bought the item without thinking and went home.

He entered the house and heard noises coming from upstairs.

"Great," he murmured while putting the Demise of the Maker in the pocket of his vest. His father was once again in his office, trying to understand what happened to his colleagues. Amy disappeared a year ago as her boyfriend vanished 6 months later. His belief it had something to do with his cursed ancestry clouded his vision for the rest of the world. Blind for the misery of his children, he was obsessed by the boxes. It was time that learned the hard truth, he was about to experience how it was when you realize that your obsession have cost you your only son. He would see what he had wrought. As for the rest of the world, they wouldn't miss 'the freak'.

Entering his room, he jumped onto his bed. As his finger touches the button on the top of the box. Light and mist and a strange stench filled the room, blinding him. A dark figure appears from the smoke, companioned by two others. The sound of chains moving was heard over the hissing noises coming for the first creature. The Gash leader opens his mouth and inhuman voice, neither male nor female, rasps through the air: 'Yet another seek domain of the Gash and yet another is found unfitting. The experience we can bring you, the knowledge we possess, you are unworthy to lay eyes upon it. The judgement is the eternal slumber in the Maze.'

This was not what he had wanted, he wanted to join them, to find some appreciation but yet again he was rejected. But this time he would not bow for the judgement of others. He stands up, looks at the creature in the mist and screams: 'NO! You shall do no such thing!'

'You have nothing to say in this, ignorant...'

'Who do you call ignorant, dreg of hell! I'm the descendant of the Great Lemarchand. Without my lineage you wouldn't be here!'

'And what do you think that will change to the situation, Lemarchand? You have summoned us, you have been found unworthy. Tell me boy, what do you believe you can offer us!'

'A bargain!'

A cold laughter left the mouth of the dark one before him, humourless and full of malice. As sudden as he had started with laughing he stopped. It was like someone turned down the volume.

'What do you think you can offer us?'

'I'm a member of the Lemarchand clan. Ask me anything in exchange for my soul! And stop being a coward, stop hiding your face from me!'

'You still have learn respect but back to you offer. Let me observe if you are worthy of our trust. Let me see which good your offer can bring.'

The cenobite left the mists, revealing his severely scarred face. His cheeks were removed as were his eyelids, while a glass eye was jammed into his forehead. The Watcher was no Explorer like Pinhead, no his position in Hell was that of the Observant, like the legendary Baron. The Observant Cenobites, completely different from the Explorers, were those who recorded any aspect of the hellish Schism, those who designed new gateways. They watched those who entered Hell, watched the new cenobites being formed. As an Observant he was to judge about the nature and tendencies of all.

'Yes, I see. One week!'

'What do you mean?'

'In one week we will return. Since you bragged so much about your legacy, let me see what the heir can do. Create a new box and bring it before me. In exactly one week your soul will be judged. Freedom or damnation will be yours!'

The mist disappeared with the shadowy creatures fainting away. The words of the Watcher echoed in his head. He had one week, one week to complete a new box. It was quite clearly what the deal was. Was he willing to damn others to save his own mere soul. Yes, he was! The world didn't give a shit about him, why would he care about those who would fall because of his deeds. The only problem was, how would he be able to recreate a box. He was awaken from thoughts by his father throbbing on the door. Irritated he walked to the door and threw it open: 'Why are bashing my door in!'

'Welcome home, Michael. I'm very happy that you said hello when you arrived,' his father said in a sarcastic matter, 'but I was actually waiting for you. I wanted to ask you something...'

The words turned into murmur before going completely silent as his father was watching at something over his shoulder. Michael turned around to see what he was looking at but felt how something grabbed him. His father's hand encloses his throat and forced him back in to room. 'What have you done, WHAT THE FUCK have you done!'

He had no idea why his father was so angry. Maybe was angry not even the right word, in comparison with his father, the bulls of Pamplona were angry. Unable to bring out any word he looked at the face of his father and saw the look who was aimed far lower than his own face. That look resolved all his questions. He had seen the box, he had discovered what his son was doing. 'What have done, Michael. Whose soul have you forsaken to those monsters? Mine? Rachel's? Whose?'

'None'

It was the only word he was able to bring out but it was enough for his father to lose the grip on his throat. Trying to breath normally, he was kneeling before his father while rubbing his throat. He felt how the contemptuous look of his father punctured his back as he spit out the words: 'If you think this hurt, you should really be surprised with what the cenobites would have done with you. Now, spill you guts before I do!'

'I promised them a box, a new puzzle box, in exchange for my life.'

His father seemed to be calmed down and even allowed him to stand up. His father looked at him with only one question: 'Why did you do it?'

That was the moment to tell everything: about his misery, about the bullying and humiliation he had to endure every day of the week by both teachers as classmates and about the uncaring nature of his father. As he proceeds, he saw the horror on his father's face as he realized which part he had played in the depression of his son. After the conversation his father ordered him to come with a design while he would make the clockwork mechanism as well looking up how Lemarchand had built the box.

After three days of hard work, the mechanism was finished and the wooden box could twist and turns once the button was activated. But there was one more thing to do. To their horror they discovered that they need the blood and the fat of a human to polish the box and as part of the paint. They were sure that the cenobites wouldn't like to be cheated on by giving them a simple toy without the proper sacrifices. But they couldn't kill someone, could they. It was already depraved that they create such a puzzle, let alone voluntarily killing someone. They dobbed about this problem for 2 days before his father came home with the carcases of three dogs. Kidnapped and beaten to death, the dogs should replace the human sacrifice. Hoping that cenobites would be satisfied with the box, now they spilled innocent blood and caused misery to a certain degree, they start to skin the dogs and uses the fat the animals to polish the wood before using the blood as a part of the paint. During this task none of them spoke, trying to hide their activities for Rachel. It was better that no one knew what they did. It was a depressing work and they were happy when they were almost finished. The only thing that was left to do was nailing the golden decoration in the box. The top and the bottom of triangular prism was similar to that of the Lament Configuration. The three sides of the box were fashioned by the golden emblem of the head of a hound.

'The Cerberusian Cradle'

After his father did the proper recording of the item, in writings, drawings and video recordings it was ready to change of owner. As the week he was given had passed, he was clouded in smoke once more as his father disappeared. He was alone and a strange smell entered his nostrils. But unlike the previous encounter it wasn't the stench of something that had been rotting for days. No, instead it was rather pleasant. As from the mist the three creatures appeared that had haunted his dreams for the last week, he spread his arm before him with the box in his hand. He saw a leather-clad hand taking the box from him and bring it for his disfigured face. He scanned every inch of the box with his eyes, but then he looked away and looked at the maker: 'The Cerberusian Cradle... Interesting.'

He focussed his gaze back on the box and all of the sudden he spread his eyes in furious rage. While holding the box in his left hand, he pointed at the maker with his forefinger of the right hand: 'Do you think that you can trick us, Maker! You were here to make us a new box worthy of the name Lemarchand. Yours lacks devotion to our Order! You have only met partly your end of the bargain and for that we have to make a new deal!'

'No, I have done what you asked for.' Michael screamed angry and scared. This wasn't part of the plan, they were the cheaters. He had delivered them the goods and they turned on him. But before he could do anything else then scream his innocence, thick chains wrapped themselves around his wrists, ankles and mouth. Unable to move a muscle or to make any sound, he felt how the chains rotated him 180 degrees so his back was turned to the Watcher. He felt how hooks ripped away his shirt as the Watcher moved closely, sharpen his blade.

'You will go in glory of the Order. You will be kept in touch until all debts are repaid.'

The Watcher lifted his arm and started cutting deep in to the skin of Michael. As the blood run over his back, he felt how the Watcher cut a triangle structure, followed by an inner circle and then lines connecting the two. The pain was beyond anyone imagination and after what felt like hours, Michael understood what the Watcher was doing. The symbol carved in his back was the top of the box, the logo of the Cerberusian Cradle. But while the cenobite was cutting through the epidermis of his skin, the pain still as excruciating as ever, he was getting slightly aroused. As much as he was ashamed of it, the scarification felt somewhat erotic, he was getting drunk by the pain.

'You will repay your debt, Michael' were the last words he heard as the monster returned to their own world. The bleeding had stopped when his father found him. His father was never the same after seeing his son's back and the horrible truth it beholds. After that, he had stopped his research. He hadn't said a word about that world for 7 years. Then he started to write a book about his experiences and his knowledge about the world beyond. That was now a year ago, 6 months after starting his writing, he joined that cursed project...

While he was reading in The World Beyond an article about a Circus Necrotica. It was the last article written by Roger Grayson. A few days after writing the article he had died. According to police was it a cult murder. The article reminded him of an another tale, that of Infernal Parade. He watched outside and folded the magazine. It had stopped with raining. He looked a last time at the cover of the magazine with headlines as 'Russian Circus of Horror', 'Mary Celestine mystery uncovered' and 'Who's Agonistes'.

As he watched his destination, he wondered if his father had tried to end the reign of Hell, hoping to free his son...


	4. Chapter 4: The Disciples of Leviathan

He stepped out the car, in the cold air of December and looked at the wooden doors that lay before him. For the outside world the building the doors belonged, was a monastery. But he knew better, he knew the dark secrets that lay beyond the gates of this institution. The Disciples of Leviathan. A group as old as the Vatican and with an even murky past. Not much was known about this group, most people never had heard of it and the few who did, saw it as a myth, an urban legend, all build upon the stories of their famous predecessor, Felix Faust. They were explorers of darkest regions of the world, seeking knowledge about the Labyrinth, the cenobites and the Engineers. They were an assembly of fallen priests, lost rabbis and corrupted imams, hedonists, libertines and oculists. According to his father, there was no one on the entire Earth with more knowledge on the matter than them. They collected the information from the source and gave their mortal soul in exchange for the knowledge. Every member of Disciples would join the ranks of Leviathan sooner or later. It was from them, his father had get most of his information about the different cenobites from. The only thing his father had yet to do was, linking their first appearances with the disappearances of people. Combined with the police files, it wasn't that hard to figure out who was who. And they would help him connect the cenobites. There was task ahead of him but it was time they would explain properly what they wanted of him. Plus if the visions were right, he would need the Disciples for the war that coming.

For him it all started a week ago. Sleeping, he was woken by an arousing sound, it sounded like a cello but even more pure, more unearthly. He opened his eyes only to be greeted by that horrible face of the Watcher. 'It is time for us to collect our prize, Michael. There is a war coming. You will help us in this war. As the generals walk the earthly plane. Lead an army to wage war for us. Find and kill the culprits so your debt will be repayed.'

But before he could ask anything at all, the three cenobites, a female specimen wielding a cello, a male with a missing nose, lips and ears and the Watcher. The task was clear but he had no idea how he could accomplish the task that lay before him. They had given him just a minimum of information and they were expecting of him, he would know all that he needed to know. The pain in his back told him that didn't dreamt it but that wasn't helping either. How could they expect he would succeed. Or was this all a diabolic plan to claim his soul yet. For some reason he found that rather unlikely. They really had expected he knew what to do, that he knew enough to take action. Then he had realized he knew indeed enough. It was so simple. They wanted an army, he knew people devoted enough to join him on this infernal crusade. And they could help him contact the cenobites for further instructions. The Disciples would help him.

And they didn't disappointed. By only mentioning his name, they were willing to do every he asked. A man in his mid forties had opened the door for him and looked at him with passionate and fascinated look. As Michael took the box out of the pocket of his coat and lay it in the hand of the man, he looked at him as if he was suddenly cured of a terminal cancer. 'The Testament of Primordium' Michael said the man and he nodded before stepping aside and allowing the visitor to enter to enter the room. As he walked through the halls of the old building, he looked around. It was dark and moist, like old catacombs but on the end of the long hallway a bluish light sprouted. He got chills when he saw the light as it reminded him of the light that blinded all who dare open one of those demonic vessels. As they entered the room, he was immediately stunned by the seize of the room. It was a circular room with a diameter of at least 15 meters. The light entered the room from long leadlight windows and against the walls there were the Disciples, some of which were surprisingly young, the youngest maybe 13 years old. He was shocked by this revelation and tried to ban the idea, of young boys and girls dragged to hell by hooked chains, out of his head. In the middle of the room, there was a woman of approximately his age, sitting at a table with an empty chair before her. Before she had a small box. He vaguely recognized the scarlet box but couldn't named. He didn't wait for an invitation and sat down before the woman. She looked him at him the same reverence as the old man, the same longing. She opened her mouth and a soft but clear voice filled the room. 'Michael Lemarchand. It is a honour to finally meet you in person. Allow me to open in your presence this jewel of your ancestor's craft: the Damnation Heart. As for you seek an audience with the Order of the Gash.'

He nods and she pressed on the circle of an in thorns wrapped heart. An even brighter light filled the room now and he was no longer able to see the people in the corners. He looked at the woman before him as she disappeared in smoke as hooked chains clawed deep into her flesh. The smoke became red and he heard her final moans through the smoke. The people in the corners were cloaked from view by the now white smoke A leathern figure was now sitting before him 'Hello Michael.'

The creature had a familiar look, an appearance similar to Pinhead. But the cenobite who sat before him with the finger interlaced was female. She smiled at him, at his surprise.

'Hello, demon. I have to say, I was expecting the Watcher, since he has called me.'

'He was just the messenger, he's no longer worthy of doing the more divine work. But now, let us move on to the matter at hand: there is a war coming. The first causalities have already been fallen. They have breached our domain!'

'Humans?'

'Humans and others...'

'Nightbreed.'

'Indeed, you are much wiser then the last time that you have summoned us. The time of preaching war is over, they have directly attacked us. Killed several servants of our great lord. The last was slain a week ago. In Midian.'

'A cenobite in Midian?' He asked, surprised to hear that there was a not only a cenobite on Earth but that he was in Midian, the capital of the Nightbreed.

'The peace treaty between Midian and Hell. Between Baphomet and Leviathan. As part of the treaty, one Nightbreed was sent to Hell while a Cenobite was sent to Midian. We had Peloquin joining our ranks, while we sent the Laughing Boy to Midian. A week ago, a rogue Nightbreed lethally wounded Laughing Boy and thrown him in the cage of a Feral Beast.'

'And what came of the rogue Nightbreed?'

'He wasn't caught. This failure on Dyke's side has angered several cenobites. It's just a matter of days before they take justice into their own hands. We are really on the brink of war. A war between Midian and Hell, with your world as its battleground.'

Michael looked with confusion and fear at the stoical face of the female Pinhead: 'And what must I do? How can I help in this conflict?'

'Find the leader and bring him to us. Kill the rest.' She said it on a tone like she had sent him to the grocery store. She give him the information he was curious about but nothing that could help him fulfil the ordeal that lay ahead. He tried to remain calm but as his own anger was starting to grow, he noticed that the facial expression of the cenobites were changing as well. She concentrated now fully on him and her eyes narrowed slightly but still easily notable. She sensed his agitation and wasn't pleased by it. Carefully he looked at her and asked: 'Have you any lead to who's behind all this.'

'No, but since you and your sister are the last descendants of your bloodline. It is likely that you two are on the hit list of those rogues. Expect them to send an assassin after you. Both you and your sister are in grave danger. And it would be a waste of a good soul to be killed by a mercenary, a gun for hire. Capture him and bring him to us. From him we will extract the name of the contractor. Use the Disciples in any way you seems to fit, use them as a protection of both you and your sister. Use them to capture your enemies.'

'You are hoping they find us, don't you?'

She stood up and looked at the mist that was surrounding them. She smiled as she called into the mist: 'Maxwell, show yourself.'

From the unearthly smoke, an man of 50 appeared. His hair was pitch black and he had a muscular body. 'You have called me, my mistress.'

'Yes, Maxwell. Your time as ruler of the Disciples is over. Michael here will take it over from you.'

The calm expression on the man's face vanished and was replaced by a malicious anger. 'No, Kristy Cotton! No one will take away that what is rightfully mine, no one.'

He took a dagger and charged to Michael, clearly forgetting the company of the latter. She snapped her long fingers and chains hooked deep into the flesh. 'So disappointing.' she says expressionless. She turned away of him while snapping her fingers a second time and the chains tore Maxwell to pieces. As pieces of muscles, organs and blood drops on the floor, she smiled at him: 'Congratulations, you are the new leader of the organization.'

As he returns, the man who let him in, run to him. The people who stood against the wall were now following him. A meter away from him the man stopped and kneeled before him. The rest followed his example and kneeled as well. The man, still in kneeling position looks up to Michael and said: 'Welcome back, what are your orders, my master?'


End file.
